


Angles

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Slash, figuring it out, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Written because we've all been personally victimized by MIsha's hipbones.)</p><p>It’s out of concern for Cas, of course.</p><p>What else would it be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angles

It’s out of concern for Cas, of course.

What else would it be?

They’re sitting on the couch. Dean’s at one end, feet propped up on the coffee table. Castiel is on the other side, so it’s not even that. He’s angled towards Dean; it seems he always is. But he’s all the way on the other side of the couch. 

There are miles of space between them. Miles.

Cas is asleep, his arms crossed over his chest, almost like he’s hugging himself. His body is one long line from his head, tipped against the cushion, to his legs stretched out in front of him, feet on the floor, ankles crossed.

But here’s the thing.

When Cas fell asleep, when he tucked his elbows into his sides for warmth, the edge of his (Dean’s) shirt pulled up. Just a little bit. A couple of inches. Just enough to expose one prominent hipbone and a small expanse of skin. 

And if Dean’s become fixated on it, it’s all out of concern for Cas. Because here’s the thing.

If he could touch that little patch. If he could trail his fingers over the jut of bone, then he’d know something. If it felt like skin stretched tight, then he’d know that Cas isn’t eating enough. That he still can’t read all the signals his human body is sending him.

He could do something about that. He could help him put on a few pounds by spreading a little extra peanut butter on his sandwiches, grating a little more cheese onto his pasta. He could swap out Sam’s beloved skim milk with whole. Or chocolate. He bets Cas would like chocolate milk.

He makes a mental note to pick some up next time he’s out.

Or if he were to touch that spot, glide his fingers over the knob and find the flesh around it yielding and pliant, well, then he’d know that Cas isn’t quite back in hunting shape. 

Dean’s found a little stream about a twenty-minute hike from the bunker. He and Cas could walk there, crunching over the carpet of gold and red and brown leaves that line the path. They could build up his endurance, walking slowly, listening to birdsong and smelling chimney smoke in the fall air. 

(Everyone knows fresh air is important for good health.)

And if Cas got tired, there’s a flat rock along the edge of the stream. It’d be sun-warmed in the early afternoon and it’s big enough for two to sit side-by-side. If they didn’t mind sharing space a bit.

And what if he were to smooth his hand there and find it taut and lean. 

What if he were to put his mouth there. 

Dean tears his gaze away and looks at the television again. Looks without seeing. Hears without listening. 

(Right, Dean. Because how would that even happen? A perfectly well-timed earthquake that would jolt him over at the exact right angle?)

He swallows hard. Because his mouth is watering. Because he can feel the shape of it in his mouth already. Feel his teeth gently biting down on the top of the bone while his tongue traces the underside. 

What would Cas do if Dean crept across the couch, silent and careful, and just fitted his mouth there. 

Would he jerk awake, limbs flailing in shock and surprise?

Or would he sigh and slightly shift, angling more towards Dean. Angling for more.

Cas stirs in his sleep, eyelids fluttering.

Dean turns his head away. Casually (he hopes) drags a pillow onto his lap while directing murderous thoughts towards traitorous body parts.

When he chances another glance, Cas is asleep again, the shirt hitched up another inch.

Dean prays (but not literally) for strength.


End file.
